he was young, how young she could not guess, but younger far than she
had imagined. As their eyes met the sombre tragedy in his had hurt her.
She divined a sorrow before which her own paled to nothingness and
quick pity killed fear. The sadness of his face lifted her suddenly
into full realisation of her womanhood. Compassion rose above self.
Instinctively she knew that the interview that was to her so momentous
was to him only an embarrassing interlude. Shyness remained but the
terror she had felt gave place to a feeling she had not then understood.
As quickly as possible he had taken her to the hotel, leaving to his
aunt all explanations that seemed necessary. And since then he had
remained consistently in the background, delegating his authority to
Miss Craven. But from the first his proximity had troubled her--she
was always conscious of his presence. Hypersensitive from her convent
upbringing she knew intuitively when he entered a room or left it.
Men were to her an unknown quantity; the few she had met--brothers
and cousins of school friends--had been viewed from a different
standpoint. Hedged about with rigid French convention there had been
no chance of acquaintance ripening into friendship--she had been merely
a schoolgirl among other girls, touching only the fringe of the most
youthful of the masculine element in the houses where she had stayed.
She had been unprepared for the change to the daily contact with a man
like Barry Craven. It would take time to accustom herself, to become
used to the continual masculine presence.

Miss Craven, to her nephew's relief, had taken the shy pale-faced
girl to her eccentric heart with a suddenness and enthusiasm that
had surprised herself.

And Gillian's reserve and pride had been unable to withstand the
whirlwind little lady. Miss Craven's personality took a strong